


Waking up is hard to do

by flugantamuso



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flugantamuso/pseuds/flugantamuso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schuldig plays practical jokes. Yohji responds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking up is hard to do

Simple Deception

***

There was nothing more embarrassing than being caught on a mission with a hand down one's pants.

"Yohji," said Ken, in a tone of deepest reproach. Aya just cast a furious glare.

Yohji grimaced, but held his tongue. He knew from experience that if he tried to explain something terribly ridiculous would come out of his mouth.

Schuldig's practical jokes, never pleasant, had been popping up more frequently, and with greater severity as of late. 'He must be really bored,' thought Yohji sourly, to go to such lengths just to humiliate an enemy.

Yes, an enemy, because they were still enemies, despite the fact that their meetings usually ended with Yohji's pants around his knees and his mind in a shameful turmoil. The sad fact of it was that one on one he didn't stand much of a chance against a telepath. It might have been different if he could have faced his adversary with the support of his team, but they always ended up split up, lured away by the other members of Schwartz.

Point in case, the events of this evening. Yohji and Omi were supported to take out the rooftop guards, but when they got there the guards were already dead, and that little telekinetic shit Nagi dragged Omi away to do god-knows what with him.

Schuldig leaned lazily against a chimney. He looked like a perfect target, but Yohji knew with frustrating certainty that he could move faster than Yohji's wire. He tightened his muscles for a throw, and then suddenly--

His skin was crawling, literally crawling, as if there was something moving around under it, eating him from the inside out.

"Cut that out!" he said sharply, trying to ignore the crawling skin, or at least not look at it.

Schuldig laughed, and the sensation stopped. "But it's so easy," he said, "so delightfully simple. How can I possibly resist?"

Between one moment and the next Schuldig was gone, but there was a large orange tabby cat where he had been.

"Haven't you ever wondered," said the cat, in Schuldig's nasal voice, "why I always pick on _you_?"

"No," said Yohji, 'Usually I'm too busy cursing your name and planning your gruesome demise."

He really would like it to be as gruesome as possible. Crawling skin and cat hallucinations were one thing, but he was never going to forgive Schuldig for the three days that he'd spent thinking that he was losing his hair.

"You're just so easy," sighed the cat, moving towards him. "Tsukiyonos got some nasty little traps set, and Fujimiya's brain is like a bucket of ice, and Hidaka..." it shook it's head. "But you," here it rubbed up against Yohji's legs, "you're like a leather glove, warm and comfortable, the perfect fit."

Yohji made a disgusted sound and backed up. He couldn't quite bring himself to strangle a cat, and it probably wouldn't have worked anyway.

"Cut that out, you're not a cat, and I'm not a bloody scratching post! Furthermore, my mind is not your personal playground, I don't care how comfortable it is. Get out!"

Abruptly the cat was gone and Schuldig was back, as irritatingly smug as ever.

'One day,' thought Yohji, 'I'll manage to distract him long enough to get a _real_ shot in.'

"Oh yes," said Schuldig huskily, "distract me, Yohji, do it."

Yohji eyed him. This conversation was going nowhere. He deliberately turned around and walked back to the door.

Behind him he could hear the pleasant sound of Schuldig swearing vehemently.

Yohji's current situation was doubtless Schuldig's tactless revenge. At least Omi hadn't seen it, although he would doubtless guess after seeing Aya and Ken's expressions.

It was almost certainly not the last time that he'd meet Schuldig and his bag of tricks. His task remained the same as ever, to find a way to not only survive the encounter, but to come out of it on top, in a manner of speaking. Recalling the evening's conversation, he smiled, thinking that he might have found a way to distract Schuldig after all.

***

Shower Surprise

***

Yohji had a nightly ritual. Wash, brush, floss, moisturize, change the sheets and get into bed. If he kept to his schedule he'd be asleep by 2am. He rarely kept to the schedule, and interrupting telepaths didn't help keep him on track.

"You _mask_?" said Schuldig, looking disturbed, and disturbingly sexy, noted Yohji absently. His only weapon was a bar of soap. He threw.

Schuldig dodged the soap, a familiar smirk appearing on his lips, but it didn't last long.

"You use Herbal Essences?"

Yohji was frequently embarrassed by his own thoughts, but he refused to be embarrassed about his shampoo. It worked, dammit.

Schuldig was smirking again, no doubt picking up on his thoughts. Bingo, time for round two.

He hadn't expected to meet Schuldig again in his shower, but it was as good a place as any for the plan that he'd been working on. Well, not so much working as thinking, dreaming, fantasizing.

He turned his back on the enemy and continued to lather his hair, deliberately thinking about his partner from the night before, long legs and creamy, lickable skin.

"That's not going to work," said Schuldig's voice from over his shoulder, significantly closer, in fact, than it had been before, and a touch raspier.

Yohji set his legs a bit apart and let his sudsy hands wander leisurely down the planes of his body, lightly touching every sensitive spot. His toes tingled. _Anticipation, _he thought, _was half the fun, but it was amazing how much more there was to anticipate if there was more than one person involved. In point of fact, how much better would it be if it wasn't his hand that ultimately encircled his aching cock?_

And then there _was _a hand there, and it wasn't his. _Round one, Yohji Kudou_, he thought smugly.

Schuldig stuck his head in Yohji's neck and whispered, voice heavy. "I'm feeling generous, Kudou, so you can have round one, but round two will be mine. Now wash that muck off your face, it's distracting."

Schuldig did eventually get round two, but it was such an enjoyable experience that Yohji didn't mind, and round three--"Yes, yes! Fuck, yes!" said Schuldig, coming great gobs. Yohji had him on his back, and he was getting the sheets dirty again. Not that they hadn't already been dirty. In fact, when Schuldig had first pushed him down on them Yohji had complained, but Schuldig had said, "Fuck this," and done something completely obscene with his tongue, and then Yohji had ceased to think about the sheets, or really anything at all.

But the sheets were dirty again, and Yohji thanked god for that thought, because he was certain that if it hadn't been at the forefront of his mind he would never have gotten away with bashing Schuldig over the head.

Round three, Yohji Kudou.

Now all he had to do was wash the shampoo out of his hair, strip his bed, and figure out what to do with the unconscious assassin in it. Manx wouldn't mind being woken at 5am, would she?

***

In which Yohji is surprised, and so is Schuldig.

***

At some point, when he was concocting his brilliant plan, Yohji should have realized that even if he managed to outwit one of the world's smartest telepaths (this was an assumption, given that Yohji had no experience with any other telepaths), he would still have to outwit the telepath's three disreputable teamates.

"Farfarello, put Kudou down." said Crawford calmly.

Yohji would have breathed a sigh of relief if he hadn't been afraid that in doing so he might push his throat the fraction of a millimeter that was needed to cut it open on the blade held tightly against it. When Farfarello dropped him his gasp to get greatly needed air was the loudest thing in the room.

Sadly, his quest to call Manx was not to be. Scarcely had he removed the offending assassin on his bed and changed his sheets than he'd found himself held up against the wall by a hand in his dressing gown, legs dangling, a knife at his throat. It was more exciting than when Schuldig did something similar, but then this was thankfully a different kind of excitement.

Well, at least the visitors above him answered his question about what to do with the assassin on his bed. Granted, it wasn't as permanent a solution as the one he'd been envisioning, but it would have to do. "He's over there," he said, gesturing. "He's probably out for a while, so you might have to carry him. Not," he added hurriedly, "that there's any permanent damage."

Crawford looked down at him for a long moment and Yohji flushed. On the floor, dressed in a fuzzy pink dressing gown, he was aware that he was not at his most imposing.

"Schuldig's retrieval is incidental, Yohji Kudou. We are here for you."

"Me?" Yohji floundered, attempted to stand up, and slipped on the trailing end of his sash.

"More precisely, we are here to warn you and your teammates about the impending arrival of a group of people who will almost certainly put an end to your existence, to the detriment of your team and, in the distant future, ours."

Yohji stood up, found his knees shaky, and immediately sat down on the bed. "I need a moment," he managed.

Crawford turned to his associates. "Farfarello, Nagi, go wake the others."

The two slipped through the door silently. Yohji winced, expecting screams and cries as Ken and Omi and Aya were awakened, but here was only silence, and then--

An earsplitting shriek, "What in god's name am I dressed in!" Schuldig was looking at his outfit in horror, with a hand to the back of his head and one scrabbling with the collar of his shirt.

"I did warn you that if you proceeded with your foolish infatuation things might end badly," said Crawford complacently. "But at least you're prepared to leave immediately."

"I'm not going anywhere like this!" spat Schuldig, "And you!" he turned on Yohji viciously, "You knocked me out! You dressed me like a hag!"

Yohji shrugged. "You have broader shoulders and shorter legs than I do. It was the only thing in my wardrobe that fit you. And," he said pointedly, "the only thing I was willing to dispose of."

"Dispose of? Nevermind. The fact that you had these clothes in your wardrobe tells me more about your twisted personality than reading your mind ever did!" said Schuldig, sliding to the side of the bed and standing gingerly.

Crawford coughed, and Yohji caught sight of what might have been a tiny smile, or just a facial tick. He was thus suitably distracted when Schuldig lunged for him.

It was lucky that the bed was behind them, because Schuldig's sense of balance was not what it should be, probably the result of his bruised skull, which Yohji was still somewhat proud of being responsible for, despite the current set of circumstances.

"You," rasped Schuldig, twisting Yohji's dressing gown distressingly tight around his neck, "irritating, tasteless, motherfucking piece of shit!" He punctuated this be kissing Yohji breathless.

Yohji was reasonably sure that he could knock Schuldig off the bed and possibly get a blow or two in before he was stopped. But he didn't. Instead he gripped Schuldig's wrists, gave a great heave and rolled both of them over. He smirked down and said, "Same to you, cocksucker."

It was, of course, the start of a great relationship.


End file.
